


Lethal Trade

by SugarsweetRomantic



Series: The World of Assassination [1]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Adult Iris Flynn, Africa, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, As Is Riya, Asia, But Lucy and Wyatt Don't Seem to Mind, But Not in this Installment Just Yet, Canonical Character Death, Europe, Eventual Garcia Flynn/Wyatt Logan/Lucy Preston, Eventual Romance, Everywhere Really, F/M, Gun Violence, Human Disaster Garcia Flynn, I Can't Promise Anything Else, I'd almost forgotten that one, It's a Hitman AU, Jiya Has Permanently Relocated to the Peanut Gallery, Lucy Enjoys Telling People What to Do, North America, Oceania, Oh and Also, Rittenhouse (Timeless), Slow Burn, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Someone Needs to Tell Flynn Murder Is Not Flirting, South America, The Trash OT3 is Safe, Violence, World Travel, a lot of people die, eventual OT3, physical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2019-11-23 11:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18151253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarsweetRomantic/pseuds/SugarsweetRomantic
Summary: An agent without personal history to claim. A woman with a family history she'd like to forget. A fugitive with a history he refuses to let go. An organisation so secret it has infiltrated the highest ranks.An agent, his handler, and a shadow client. Together, they face the biggest enemy they have ever encountered - if they can join the same side, the right side, in time.The clock is ticking.Welcome to the World of Assassination.





	1. Prologue - Greenland

_ 10 Years Earlier _

The wind is the strongest competitor as the pilot touches down on the helipad. He’s as nondescript as they come, his eyes hidden by sunglasses and having said just two words during the flight: “Almost there.” The passenger needs just three seconds to find his bearings, which is long enough for the earpiece that was sent to him to come alive with a soft crackling noise.

“Welcome to the Agent Programme, Initiate. I’ll be waiting inside.” The voice belongs to a woman, and it’s gentler than one might have expected. Floodlights turn on with thunderous bangs, revealing a set of metal stairs and thick doors hidden in the cliffside. A bunker. 

“Please follow the lights.” There’s a sense of urgency in the woman’s voice. He might as well do as she says. After all, all that’s behind him is an empty helipad and a drop down so deep he couldn’t see the water when they approached the facility. The doors open, creaking as metal works against metal, and there’s a young woman standing inside. He analyses her on auto-pilot: early twenties, Caucasian, hair a darker shade of brown. She’s on the shorter side, perhaps 5’ 6” on a good day. Thin, but not weak, agile. She’s wearing a thick winter coat that reaches her knees, though that says less about her and more about the environment they’re in. If these people have ever heard of heating, they haven’t implemented it here. 

“Majestic, isn’t it?” the woman comments as they walk down the hallway, motioning at the high ceilings. There are multiple levels of walkways above their heads, and armed men and women are patrolling them endlessly. “I’m Lucy. I’ll take you to your quarters.”

“Someone likes to keep secrets,” the Initiate states. 

“Secrets are our stock-in-trade,” Lucy retorts, a slight hint of surprise at his bluntness in her voice, though she regains her neutral tone quickly. “Besides, from what I hear, you have a few of your own. I’m not  _ like you _ , in case you were wondering. I’m in the Handler programme.” That explains her demeanour, her calm and collected attitude.

Every sound inside of the bunker is amplified, echoing against metal and concrete as Lucy continues: “Agents and Handlers work in unity. You know the expression ‘know your enemy’?” She waits for him to react, and when he doesn’t she clarifies: “Well, that part is my job.”

“Knowing your enemy is only half the victory,” he counters. 

“I know. You also need to know yourself. I'm working on it.” Lucy huffs softly in amusement. “I read your case file. Impressive work. Hardly textbook, but I suppose fieldwork never is.” She stops in her path and turns to face him as she asks: “Tell me...what did it feel like? Taking lives?”

“Random. Disordered.” It’s the most honest answer he can give her. For all it’s worth, he trusts her. Call it a gut instinct, if you must, but he has a feeling Lucy is not his enemy. 

“Is that why you came here?” she inquires. “Why you let us test you?”

“Maybe I’m not the only one being tested,” the Initiate comments. If she’s still in the programme, that means she’s not actually a Handler just yet. She’s as much a trainee as he is.

“Well,” Lucy continues, disregarding his jab at her, “we’re here. Basic training starts at 0600 hours. I shall…” Is that hesitation in her voice? “...leave you to prepare.”

  


The following week, he is sent from professional to professional. Doctors, psychiatrists, profilers. He barely sees Lucy anymore, except from the communal dinners they share.

But she sees him.

Standing behind a two-way mirror, Lucy watches the Initiate as the resident neurologist talks him through yet another cognition exam.

“Are you sure about this?” the man next to her asks.

“I am,” she replies, perhaps too quickly. She manages to keep her voice as calm as possible. 

“There are no second chances, Miss Preston. Not here.” She's aware he means to intimidate her. It's not working. 

“I choose him.” 

“May I inquire why? A blank slate. Anti-social. Apathetic and unresponsive. No doubt the boy shows promise, but…”

“Maybe I see possibilities where others see limitations - isn't that what a Handler does, Mr Cahill?” Lucy interjects, quickly adding: “With all due respect, Sir.” Cahill huffs quietly.

“We'll see. Anyone can kill, Miss Preston. He still remembers nothing?” he asks her, changing the subject. 

“If he does, he's not sharing,” Lucy replies truthfully. How is she supposed to know?  She's barely talked to the Initiate since he arrived here.

“We will check up on his story,” Cahill decides. “The hospital in Croatia? In the meantime, keep him under close watch.”

  


A month later, the Initiate finds himself standing in a large chamber in the bunker. There’s a hole in the ceiling that lets daylight in, and there’s a decently-sized yacht located at the far end. It would look impressive if it weren’t for the absence of actual water surrounding it. 

“Welcome to Advanced Training,” Lucy tells him through his earpiece. “This mission originally took place in Sydney, Australia. The target was Kalvin Ritter, also known as ‘The Sparrow’. He was a master thief for hire, specialising in rare and priceless art. Our agent Christopher infiltrated Ritter’s yacht during a social gathering and discretely eliminated him without any of the guests noticing. Now you will do the same.” He’s heard of this Agent Christopher before. She’s a bit of an ICA legend. Lucy clears her voice and adds: “Oh, and don’t worry about the training operatives. All weapons are simulated.” Right. Everyone on this ship is working as an actor. Most think they’re here to help train specialised policemen, they’ve told him. How ironic. “Good luck, Initiate.”

Approaching the gangway, he figures he might as well try to infiltrate the ship as a guest, but one of the two guards standing on the dock shakes his head and stops him with a hand against his shoulder.

“You’re not coming through looking like that.” 

The black turtleneck and cargo pants indeed might stand out a little too much on decks where everyone is wearing cocktail dresses and day suits. The cargo area might be a better idea. There’s a building in the middle of the fencing that separates the cargo bay from the rest of the terrain, and there is no glass in the window. Perfect. He walks over to the building, and once he’s out of the lines of sight of the guards, he climbs through. A mechanic is in his way, but that shouldn’t be too much of a problem. The Initiate sneaks up behind him and wraps his hands around the man’s throat and mouth. He goes down quickly. So much for having a nice and easy day on the acting job. 

Now, he needs to get past the four mechanics standing in the loading area of the ship, and there’s no way he’ll be able to sneak past them like this. There’s too many of them. Looking down at the unconscious mechanic, the Initiate drags the man’s body into a nearby restroom and shoves him into a closet. If anyone walks by, they won’t find him there. He opens the doors of the cupboard once more. Maybe he had something on his body that will help him infiltrate? Perhaps…

“You’re putting on his clothes?” Lucy comments through his earpiece. She sounds highly amused. “Well, that’s a first. It might just work, though. People do tend to see uniforms, not faces. Be cautious though - some people are more observant than others.” She hums quietly. “Not bad, Initiate.” He has a feeling the supervisor in the cargo area may notice the mechanic returning is not the man who left. Instead of trying to head past him, he heads back over to the gangway. Let’s see if these guards will let him through now?

“Mister Mechanic, what’s up?”

BIngo.

The ship is large but not humongous, and he makes his way up to the main deck quickly. It's absolutely littered with partygoers. They pay him no attention. Ritter isn't difficult to locate at the bar, but there are way too many people here; too many witnesses. He watches his target carefully. When Ritter moves up the stairs, the Initiate tries to follow him, but a guard stops him.

“Sorry man. Uniformed crew only.” He swears he can hear Lucy roll her eyes through the earpiece as she murmurs: “Of course.”

“I have an idea,” the Initiate whispers so only she can hear. Turning back into a corridor, he enters the galley where a single crewmember is stirring a pot of pasta.

“Hey man,” the guy comments, barely looking up from his task. The Initiate nods his head, grabbing a heavy wrench from the countertop. Before the other man realises what's going on, the tool is soaring through the air and slamming into his skull. He goes down like a sack of potatoes. After exchanging the mechanic’s clothing for the white naval uniform, the Initiate dumps his unconscious body in a nearby storage crate. Lucy chuckles. 

“What?” the Initiate asks quietly, knowing she can hear his every breath.

“Nothing,” she replies. “Quickly now, before you lose your window.” The serious tone has returned to her voice. As he passes the guards, she comments: “You may need to blend in once you reach the upper deck. Ritter knows his staff quite well, and may figure you out if you're loitering.” The Initiate makes a beeline for the unmanned bar at the bow of the ship and begins cleaning its surface with a nearby rag. “Perfect. You fit right in.”

“If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were flirting with me,” he whispers.

“I…” Lucy seems at a loss for words. “This line is monitored.”

“I see.” The Initiate goes silent once more, observing the master thief as the man speaks with what seems to be his girlfriend. 

“You said you were done, Kalvin,” she warns him, “and yet here you are, having secretive phone conversations and meeting up with people I’ve never heard you mention before.” The Sparrow shrugs.

“It’s just business, Marjorie.”

“Business my ass.” 

After meeting with his contact, Ritter takes him upstairs, and the Initiate quietly follows him. They  move into the man’s office. The door is guarded by a bodyguard. There’s no way he’s slipping past unnoticed.

“I don’t see any other entrances on the map,” Lucy comments. “Try the windows; it’s warm out today.” He crouches down and sneaks out onto the deck, which wraps around the office, testing every window he passes. The final one is open. “Perfect.” Lucy sounds pleased.

He crawls in as soundlessly as possible, seeking cover behind Ritter’s desk. He’s monologuing about some sort of artifact he’s selling this man, how it will change the future of crime forever. As the contact turns to look out the window, Lucy whispers: “Now!” The Initiate takes the shot, and Ritter drops immediately. “Target down. Get out of there, quickly. Don’t let them spot you!”

Within a minute, the Initiate is back at the start of the training level, pressing the red button beside the car. “Challenge complete. Good work, Initiate.”

  


“How did you know?” Cahill asks from behind the two-way mirror.

“I told you he had talent.”

“His stats are off the charts. Such skills and reflexes - they can only be the result of previous training. Power like that with no moral restraint? He could be dangerous.”

“I thought that was rather the point, Sir,” Lucy counters.

“All agents have weak spots, Miss Preston. Pressure points to keep them in check. But this one?” He glances over at her, sighing. “Perhaps it would be better to just…”

“Give me a chance, Sir,” Lucy begs of him, immediately regretting the tremor in her voice. “Give him a chance. I will take full responsibility.” 

“Very well. It’s your show.” 

  


In the meantime, the Initiate attempts the Ritter assassination over and over again. “Every challenge can be overcome in multiple ways,” Lucy tells him. He snipes the man; pushes him over a ledge; causes an explosion; disguises himself as his contact; poisons him. He succeeds every time.

  


“I just got word. Croatia was a dead end.” Cahill doesn’t sound pleased at all.

“Are you saying that he lied?”  Lucy asks, staring at the empty room behind the mirror where the Initiate is walking in circles like a caged tiger.. 

“Place is real enough. Deserted. But we found no trace that your man was ever there. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

“Someone erased his steps,” Lucy deduces. Cahill hums in acknowledgement.

“We’ll keep digging, of course. But frankly, it’s as if the earth just spat him out. Are you still determined?”

“Does it matter? I was told there’d be no second chances.” There’s a hint of determination and venom in her words.

“Don’t believe everything you hear, Miss Preston. You have a bright future ahead of you, should you make the right decisions.”

“My decision stands.” Lucy folds her hands.

“Very well. I’ll be watching.”

As if he knows, the Initiate stares right back at them through the mirror.

  


“The final test is based on an authentic 1979 mission,” Lucy tells the Initiate as he approaches a new training set. “It’s the high point of Training Director Cahill’s career as an active agent. The target was Jasper Knight, a famous US chessmaster exposed as a Soviet spy. Cahill caught up with Knight at a military airfield in Cuba and eliminated him against all odds. This is your objective as well.” She takes a deep breath, and lowers her voice through the earpiece. 

“Now listen carefully. ICA exams aren’t normally this difficult. Not only was the airfield a virtual fortress, he has even added additional guards. Cahill wants you to fail. He considers you a threat. This way, your unfortunate exit from the programme won’t raise any eyebrows. He did not, however, factor  _ me  _ into the equation. If Cahill can bend the rules, then so can I. This line is secure. I’m the only one one it. If I were you, I’d start off by listening in on those two mechanics by the gate,” Lucy suggests. “Good luck Initiate.”

An hour later, as he presses the red button by the getaway car, he hears rustling before Cahill's voice suddenly sounds.

“Congratulations, Agent. You are cleared for field duty.”

  


In the control room, Cahill doesn't sound as positive as he tells Lucy: “I hope you know what you just did. The chopper leaves at dawn. Now get out of my sight.” Pressing her lips together, she turns without a word and walks away.

  


“So what happens now?” the Agent asks as Lucy leads him down the hallway he hasn't seen since he got to the training facility. 

“You go back into the world. Disappear. Stay on your own and on the move. When we need you, we will contact you.”

“And Cahill?” he asks, approaching the helipad.

“You played his hand, and he lost. He cannot touch us now.” Lucy pulls her scarf in front of her chin, straining against the harsh wind. “Still, I can't believe we beat him at his own game.”

“If you know your enemy…” he suggests. Lucy chuckles. 

“Quite right.” Her voice turns serious. “I should tell you, the trail went dead after Croatia. Our team found no records of any kind. No name, nothing.”

“I think they called me ‘Logan’,” he tells her, turning to face her.

“That's...not much of a name.”

“Then make it one.” It's the last thing he says to her before making his way over to the waiting helicopter. 

“Alright. Agent...Logan.”

  


_ Present Day _

“You were always the best. Nobody ever came close. You defined the art, and it defines you. Your actions have changed the world. Powerful men have fallen by your hand. But by the same token, others have risen. Do you realise what kind of world you've been shaping? Does the ICA? Christopher? Carlin? Cahill? Your handler? I live in that world. I have seen the consequences. I have felt the cost. That's what defines  _ me _ .”

“You're sounding like a madman, Flynn, you know that, right?” the young woman in the hotel room tells the man standing on the balcony overlooking the Eiffel tower. “The accent doesn't make it sound any less like a villain monologue either.”

“I'm not a villain, Jiya,” he tells her. 

“Good luck trying to convince him of that,” the other woman in the room announces from behind her. Flynn sighs.

“Let's go, ladies. We have a plane to catch.”

  



	2. The Showstopper - Paris, France

“Good evening, Logan.” Lucy’s voice is warm and familiar over the secure comm line, and Logan sits up straight.

“Hello Lucy” he replies. “Happy 10-year-anniversary.” He can hear her chuckle. 

“Ten years already? Time has gone by so quickly, hasn't it?” She sighs. “In any case, your destination is tomorrow evening’s Paris fashion show by Sanguine, one of Europe’s leading couture brands.” Logan glances down. His watch bears the contemporary-styled logo. 

“Your targets,” Lucy continues in a professional tone he’s heard so often before, “are Sanguine-owner Viktor Novikov former oligarch-turned-fashion-mogul, and his business partner Connor Mason, a retired supermodel. An iconic power couple on the global fashion scene, and two of the most dangerous people in the world.” 

“I’ve heard of Novikov,” the agent replies, taking a sip of his wine. “But never of Mason.”

“Novikov and Mason are in fact the ringleaders of IAGO,” Lucy discloses. She clears her throat. “IAGO is an enigmatic spy ring that deals in the global elite’s most valuable secrets. Unscrupulous and opportunistic, IAGO has caused disastrous security leaks all over the globe.”

“Such as?”

“When Crimean separatists caused a deadly meltdown at the Odessa nuclear power plant, IAGO gave them access to the plant’s security network. And when the Delgado drug cartel shot down the plane of President Hernandez and his family, IAGO provided the classified flight plans.” She takes a moment, and Logan nearly asks if she’s alright.

“Now Novikov and Mason have obtained a NOC - non-official cover - list of British undercover agents, operatives who assume covert roles in organizations without official ties to the government for which they work,” she continues before he can say anything, “which they plan to sell at a secret IAGO auction during the Sanguine show. So our client, MI6, need us to stop the ringleaders before the NOC list ends up in the wrong hands.”

“Any information about the show itself?” he asks instead as the pilot announces they will begin to descend in approximately five minutes. 

“The Sanguine show, it will be swarming with security and Viktor Novikov will be the focus of everyone’s attention.” He can hear her fingers hitting the surface of a keyboard, no doubt bringing up floor plans and event info. “Despite his posturing though, he is merely the money man. The real target is Connor Mason, charming and brilliant. He is a master manipulator and the true brains behind IAGO.”

“I see.”

“Two targets; a highly public event. At first glance, an impossible task. Then again,” Lucy comments, the warmth returning to her voice, “I do know how you  _ love _ a challenge. I will leave you to prepare.” With that, she closes the line, and the private jet commences its approach of Paris Charles de Gaulle. 

 

As Logan approaches the Palais de Walewska the following evening, the GPS-activated earpiece beeps once. There's a short moment of silence while he hands a guard his invitation to the show, before Lucy's familiar voice sounds in his ear.

“Welcome to Paris, Logan,” she tells him. “The show is just about to start. This is  _ the _ red carpet event of the season, and the guest list is a veritable who's who of the global fashion elite.”

“So why aren't you here then?” he murmurs under his breath.

“Funny,” she comments on a soft laugh, continuing: “You will find Viktor Novikov basking in the spotlight, while Connor Mason hosts the heavily guarded auction on the top floor for a group of IAGO's top customers. Rufus has managed to get you on the guest list using your standard alias, but you'll still need to find a way up there.”

“At least the Louis Treize style means there are a lot of balconies,” he suggests. Lucy laughs again.

“You're not seriously thinking of climbing your way up there, are you? Now, event security will keep a watchful eye on any suspicious activity, but I trust your timeless look shall fit right in.” He glances down at his tuxedo and smiles. “Good luck.”

A red carpet leads around both sides of a large fountain, where a TV crew is recording an intro. Every guest is dressed to the nines, and Logan quickly makes his way over to the impressive façade of the palace, an armed guard letting him pass. All guards are stationed in duos, he realises, which will make getting past them unnoticed even harder than he had hoped. Inside, a large group of attendees is gathered at the bottom of the grand double staircase. A figure appears at the top, and applause sounds. It seems he entered the building at the right time: Novikov smiles as he makes his way down, pausing halfway to speak to the crowd, welcoming them to the show. Logan's eyes flick up to land on the chandelier hanging at least ten feet above the man's head. If he could find a way to make it fall, by finding the winch or shooting the cable, the weight would surely kill Novikov in the perfect accidental death, but it would be in public, and he doesn't want to alert Mason. Something else will have to do. He can hear Lucy in his mind: “Every challenge can be overcome in multiple ways.”

Leaving Viktor for a moment, Logan decides to explore the ground floor further. He’s studied the floorplans extensively since he touched down, but 2D projections never tell you too much about concealed corners, off-limits areas and where the guards are stationed. After ten years of experience, he has a good instinct and can sense people’s presence from the other side of a door, but first-hand observation is always the best. Following the flow of the guests, he arrives in a moderately-sized hallway. The catwalk is to his left, he knows, and the bar is straight ahead. He tests the door on his right-hand side. It opens. The comms line is silent, but he knows that Lucy is observing his every move, watching him through the video feed from his glasses. Besides, he’s been inside for a few minutes now, giving Rufus enough time to hack into the security feed. 

Logan walks into another hallway, guarded by just a single low-level guard. This looks promising. If he remembers correctly, there are washrooms just beyond the next door. Maybe he could overflow a sink to catch the man’s attention, knock him out and take his uniform. He’d need a place to leave his unconscious body, though. Perhaps the supply closet on the other side of the corridor? As he enters the men’s room, he stops in his tracks. 

“Isn’t this convenient,” he mumbles, quietly making his way over to the suit jacket draped over a chair, its owner surely in one of the stalls. A small card bearing the black IAGO logo sticks out of the inside pocket. 

“Is it addressed?” Lucy asks him. Opening the invitation, he smiles. 

“Secret organisations prefer to stay secret,” he comments softly, pocketing the invite. A quiet rustle, and suddenly he hears Rufus’ voice.

“Security shows high-level bodyguards about thirty feet north of the terrace, and they’re only letting people through with invitations.”

“Bingo,” Lucy comments.

“Be aware though, they’re frisking people on the second floor before they let them upstairs.”

“You’re going to have to conceal your pistol somewhere,” Lucy decides. Logan eyes the supply closet door. It’s unlocked. Slipping inside, he retrieves his silenced gun and hides it behind a few boxes. 

“Good to go,” his handler decides.

 

A young woman with dark hair and an angled face nearly walks into him as Logan makes his way over to the guards accepting the auction guests. She apologises shyly before continuing down the hall. Grabbing a mobile phone out of her purse, she dials a number. Walking out of earshot, Logan hears the first few words of her conversation: “Hi Dad. Everything’s great so far, I’m really enjoying my evening.” 

“That’s sweet,” Lucy comments.

 

After the guards check his invitation, Logan is directed further into the Palais, until he reaches a staircase on the second floor. One of the two supervising the room frisks him quickly, and he is let through. A friendly-looking waiter points him into the direction of a set of double doors.

The next room needs no explanation. A group of people sitting in a circle, an auctioneer at the head of the room. 

“IAGO,” Lucy whispers. “Sheikh Salman al-Ghazali, Helmut Krueger, Dalia Margolis, they’re all there.”

“Holy shit,” Rufus adds. 

Logan makes his way over to the only empty chair, where a tablet is waiting for him. The Sheikh is seated to his right, and a blonde woman is obviously bored on his left. Smiling at him, she offers him her right hand, introducing herself: “Jessica Taylor.”

“Tobias Rieper,” Logan replies, nodding at her. She sighs and gazes down at the silver-coloured phone in her hands, typing a text message. 

“Do we know her?” he hears Lucy ask Rufus, presumably forgetting to turn off her microphone. In the background, the hacker replies: “Also known as  _ The Face _ , former marketing executive now working for the Delgado cartel. Fernando Xalvador Delgado is her uncle.” Lucy takes a shaky breath.

“Shit,” she whispers, and he can hear the microphone rustle. “I...guess you heard all of that, Logan?” Logan hums affirmatively in response. “Keep an eye on her, what she does, but focus on Mason and Novikov for now.” Logan nods ever so slightly, knowing that Lucy will be able to discern it on the video feed. 

“I don’t believe we’ve met?” a voice suddenly announces behind him in a pristine British accent the Queen would approve of. Logan turns his head, looking Connor Mason straight in the eye.

“This is Tobias,” Jessica comments, pouncing onto the opportunity to get some conversation in. 

“Tobias Rieper,” Logan confirms. “I’m an acquaintance of Viktor’s.” Mason nods.  

“Meet me in my office once you’re done here. Any friend of Viktor’s is a friend of mine.” With another nod of his head, the Brit turns on his heel and marches out of the room, followed by yet another bodyguard. Logan can just see him entering a smaller door down the hallway

“It’s absolutely crawling with guards,” Lucy remarks. “More than the Walewska employs. Strange.” 

“They’re CICADA,” Rufus explains. “American militia. In the 1990s, CICADA was active in the Bosnian War, with the most notable unit of them, being the SIGMA unit, also known as the Sarajevo Six. They participated in war crimes, but got away with it, due to their status.” They’ve encountered them many times before. Sometimes Logan wonders why they haven’t got him on some sort of watchlist yet, after a decade of annoying them. Then again, the lifespan of the average CICADA employee seems to be quite short.

“Wait for a little while,” Lucy tells him. “You may bid up to one hundred thousand euros.” And so he does.  

 

“She's not actually doing that, is she?” Flynn comments as he watches the security feed. “Please tell me my eyes are deceiving me.”

“This is live footage alright,” Jiya replies. “Would you like a baggie to breathe into?”

 

Stepping out onto the balcony, Logan nearly bumps into the young brunette from before, who apologises immediately.

“Beg your pardon, Sir,” she soothes in an unmistakably South-African accent. “Didn't see you there.” Offering him a shy smile, she accepts a glass of wine from a nearby server. “Good luck today.”

“Luck?” Logan replies, and he can almost hear Lucy getting ready to tell him that he must have been compromised, to get out of there immediately. 

“With the auction?” the woman replies, shooting him a quizzical look. Chuckling, she brushes past him and moves inside. The comms line crackles in his ear.

“Get to Mason, now.”

 

The Brit's office is surprisingly modest, that is, compared to the rest of the Palais de Walewska. The Louis Treize architecture and design means the building is nearly overflowing with gold accents and fleurs-de-lis, but Mason seems to have chosen the calmest room. 

“Mister Rieper,” he greets Logan as the agent enters, let inside by his bodyguard who guards the door.. 

“Mister Mason,” he replies.

“Can I pour you a drink?” the Brit asks, motioning towards the whiskey on the cabinet on the other side of the room.

Logan nods.

Mason turns his back to him.

“Surroundings are clear,” Rufus confirms over the comms line. 

Stepping forward, Logan's arm comes around Mason's neck. The Brit drops the crystal tumbler he's holding onto the chestnut surface. He struggles against the grip, fighting for oxygen until he finally, finally goes limp. A practiced motion moves the C2 vertebra forward, lacerating the spinal cord.

“One down, one to go,” Lucy comments calmly. “Novikov is on the ground floor.”

 

Moving back down after hiding Mason's body in a large hamper in the ensuite bathroom, Logan stops by the supply closet to retrieve his handgun, before making his way over to the bar and terrace. The show has ended by now, and Novikov seems to be rotating through the attendees. 

“Too many witnesses to be able to do anything obvious,” he comments quietly. Lucy hums in agreement. “I'll explore a bit.” He listens in on the conversations surrounding him, but learns nothing interesting. Most are just talking about the show and the craftsmanship. As he walks past a set of stairs leading down into the basement, he overhears two servers talking to each other. 

“What in God's name is a bare-knuckle boxer,  _ p'tain _ ?” one comments, murmuring the expletive under his breath.

“This ridiculous cocktail Novikov wants. It's apparently disgusting, but I lost the recipe. He's been asking for it ever since he got here apparently.”

“Get a bartender’s disguise, Logan,” Lucy suddenly tells him. 

“I'm not a mixologist.”

“Luckily I worked my way through college then,” she replies. “I know exactly how to make that horrid drink. Disgusting doesn't begin to describe it.”

“I didn't bring anything ingestible.” Logan eyes the stairs. The waiters have disappeared. “But who knows what I can find down there.”

 

Slipping inside quietly, Logan finds a locker room.

“Over there, on the bench,” Lucy points out. A stack of freshly-ironed uniforms sits on the far corner. “Just make sure no-one sees you.” Exchanging his tuxedo for a bartender’s uniform, he steps into the light and faces a security camera. “Charming, Logan.”

A quick search of the basement produces some rat poison from the kitchen pantry.

“Great if you want to make him throw up, not so much if you have a more lethal goal,” Lucy remarks. “Logan?” she asks. “What's that in that bag?” Crouching down, he retrieves a small container.

“...sodium fluoroacetate.”

“What?!” Lucy replies, raising her voice unintentionally. “What is compound 1080 doing in the basement of the Walewska?”

“Don't question it; just use it!” Rufus exclaims.

 

Just as Viktor Novikov returns to the bar once again, Logan steps behind it.

“Please tell me you've finally figured it out,  _ kurva _ ,” Novikov snarls.

“2 ounces of rum, 1 ounce of vodka, 1 ounce of orange juice, a sprinkle of sugar and a sprinkle of salt,” Logan replies as Lucy instructs him simultaneously, already grabbing the right bottles. 

“I...yes.” Novikov watches as he prepares the muddy-orange-looking beverage. Grabbing it from Logan's hands the moment he holds it out to him, he downs it in one go. “Finally! I thought I'd never taste that again! Packs a real punch!”

“Oh, that it does indeed,” Logan responds, pocketing the empty container.

“He'll be dead by tomorrow,” Lucy comments. “I'll keep an eye out for the confirmation. Well done, now get out of there. Rufus, corrupt the security feed please”

 

As Logan walks down into the Parisian metro, the young brunette exits through the main gate. She waves at an older woman idling nearby, who smiles at her.

“Had fun?” the woman asks her, and she nods. “Everything go as planned”

“I had to leave your bag for him to find,” she replies, “or we would've still been here next week, but it's done.” The older woman laughs.

“You panicked your father when you decided to climb up to the auction, Iris.”

“Then tell him to get me an invitation next time! Or to just watch them himself”

“Maybe he will. Let's go. Jiya and dad are waiting for us in Johannesburg.” She hands Iris a French passport. “You're Hélène Corbeau today, born in Marseille.”

“Does that mean you're Lenore again? You really need a name that doesn't sound so much like your actual name, you know,” Iris comments. 

Lorena Gallo-Flynn chuckles.

“Come on, smart-ass.”

 

\--

 

_ One Day Earlier _

The rain hits the ground with harsh splashes as Viktor Novikov approaches the pavilion in the northeastern gardens of the Palais de Walewska. Except for the weather and the continuous quiet hum of Parisian traffic in the background, it is remarkably silent. 

“How was Moscow?” he asks.

“Kamarov is gone. I set him up as a Langley spy. It's quite the scandal at the FSB. His death will not be investigated.” Garcia Flynn turns around to face him. “Your turn.”

“Very well,” Novikov decides, pleased with their little deal. “The secrets of the global elite.” He holds the leather-bound journal up in the air, shaking it to emphasize his words. “Five years of work. Everything we've collected. “This thing makes WikiLeaks look like a gossip rag. The pen beats the sword in the end, huh?” He holds it out to Flynn, who grabs it instantly. 

“I have found that whoever wields the sword decides who holds the pen,” the Croatian comments. Turning away from Novikov, he quickly types a text message on what is undoubtedly a burner phone.

_ File secure. No loose ends. Leak their names to the ICA. Make sure Preston gets the case.  _

“Smile, Viktor,” Flynn tells the fashion mogul. “Your reputation is safe; Kamarov won't be unveiling anything about your private preferences anymore. Now, run along. I'm sure you have pretty dresses to attend to.” Huffing, Novikov turns on his heel and walks away.

“Viktor?”

He pauses, looking back at Flynn.

“Good luck with the show. I have a feeling it's going to be the one you'll be remembered for.”

_ Message sent. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bare knuckle boxer is absolutely disgusting and I wouldn't recommend it.


	3. A World of Tomorrow - Sapienza, Italy

“Good morning Logan.” Lucy’s voice fills Logan’s ears as he drives up the narrow road that leads along the coastline of Italy.

“Hello, Lucy,” he replies. It’s warm outside, and he has exchanged his usual black tailored suit for a short-sleeved dress shirt and black slacks.

“As you already know, your destination is the coastal town of Sapienza, also known as ‘The Jewel of the Amalfi Coast’. Your target is a former client of ours, Noah Caruso, a brilliant but troubled bioengineer employed by the Ether Biotech Corporation.” 

“Weren’t you once…” Logan starts, but he swallows his question. Lucy was engaged to Caruso at one point in time, he’s certain, but she broke it off after he started questioning her employment. She never told him this directly, but he heard it anyway. Word gets around, even in the most secure organisation on the planet. Especially in the most secure organisation on the planet.

“Renowned for his early stem-cell research,” Lucy continues, “Caruso is now reportedly working on a far more disturbing project: a DNA-specific virus able to infect anyone, anywhere in the world.”

“Come again?” Logan asks as he turns right. 

“Imagine a bullet fired in any direction, passing through countless bodies without inflicting harm, invisible and undetectable until it strikes its target. A world of armchair assassins killing with impunity. This is what awaits us unless Caruso is stopped.”

“And I’m assuming we don’t expose their little project to the world?” the agent asks. He pulls up in front of a market square. The town hall is on one side, and a large mansion is on the other. The town plans he studied last night told him the humongous property is  _ Villa Caruso _ . 

“Our client, one of Ether’s major private stockholders, wants the project cancelled on ethical grounds, but without destroying the company in the process. She has asked us to eliminate Noah Caruso, and destroy the yet unfinished virus prototype. You will also need to deal with Caruso’s lab head, Francesca de Santis, a high-level Ether employee and cutthroat corporate climber who holds intimate knowledge of Caruso’s research and could potentially carry on in his place.”

“Noted.” 

“This is no ordinary contract, Logan. Caruso’s virus is a serious threat to our craft and trade, not to mention our core ideals, so failure is not an option. I’ll leave you to prepare.”

 

Exiting his rental car, Logan walks up to a small apartment building right next door to  _ Villa Caruso _ . The ICA owns multiple safe houses throughout the world - most of them in Europe - and Sapienza is one of those locations, usually used to access Salerno or to hide out in while preparing for a job in Rome. The locals think it’s an Airbnb, rented out to businessmen needing a break. They couldn’t be more wrong.

Two flights of stairs take him to the front door, where he turns the key in the lock and accesses the modest studio apartment. He shuts the door behind him and makes sure it’s secured again before setting his suitcase down on the floor and observing his surroundings. The last time he was here, it was as Lucy’s bodyguard, nearly a decade ago.

_ “I’m perfectly capable of defending myself, you know,”  _ she had told him.  _ “I may be a handler, but that doesn’t mean I never worked as a field operative.” _

_ “It can’t hurt to have an extra pair of eyes and hands on site, ma’am,”  _ he had replied.  _ “Especially when you’ve upset the Delgado Cartel.”  _ She had shaken her head.

_ “You can stop calling me ‘ma’am’, you know. We’re the same age.” _

It had taken him seven more missions to get the title out of his system. 

There's an unmarked black suitcase under the coffee table. Opening it, Logan retrieves a lockpick and pockets it before walking through the single archway into the postage-stamp-sized kitchen. A single golf ball lies on the countertop. It's a remote explosive, one of Rufus’ ingenuities, but it's too loud; too public. He grabs it anyway. It might make for a nice distraction, should he need one. 

 

“ _ Grazie, signore _ ,” Lorena Gallo-Flynn tells the taxi driver as he takes her suitcase out of the trunk of his car after she's paid him for the trip. The middle-aged Italian hadn't been too eager to drive her all the way from Naples to Sapienza, but a quick flash of a yellow euro bill and the surname in her passport convinced him within two seconds. There are benefits to being the daughter of the  _ Capintesta della Camorra.  _

“ _ Nessun problema, signora Gallo. Buona giornata! _ ” With that, he nods his head and enters his car, driving off. Lorena grabs her phone and types out a text.

_ U hotelu sam. Volim te. _

The response comes within seconds. 

_ I ja tebe volim. Sretno. _

Smiling, she walks up to the small family-run hotel right next to the church. After checking in, she enters her room and leaves her luggage under the bed. It's time to go observe her surroundings. She buys a bottle of chilled water and today's  _ Repubblica _ , and exits the building. It's blisteringly hot outside, and she's grateful for the floppy hat either Iris or Jiya must have snuck into her suitcase at the very last minute. There’s a public bench under a tree which faces the front gates of  _ Villa Caruso.  _ How convenient.

 

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Lucy asks Rufus as he shows her the security feed he’s managed to hack into.

“He’s always okay,” the younger man replies. “Why would today be any different?” Lucy shrugs, and sits back down behind her triple computer screens. Her headset is giving her a headache. She could technically take it off; a light will go on when Logan tries to contact her, but she’d rather keep it on. 

She’s not supposed to, but she worries about him. But as long as Director Cahill doesn’t know...it’ll all work out.

 

Logan sips his Americano coffee from the paper cup he bought a few minutes ago. The barista had shaken her head when he had ordered it, but through all of his travels, he still can’t stomach true Italian espresso.  _ Your one weakness _ , Lucy had once told him after she had handed him a caramel macchiato in an airport in Rio de Janeiro. If it was his weakness, she was the pot calling the kettle black. He knew her coffee order, and there were enough pumps of soy milk and vanilla extract involved to start wondering if one could truly still call the resulting beverage ‘coffee’. Glancing over to the woman to his left, he realises she has made a better decision, drinking water in the sweltering heat as she reads her newspaper. The headline reads: ‘ _ Omicidio a Parigi: la morte di due magnati della moda _ ’. Internally, he smiles. 

A cyclist passes him, on his way out of the small town. He must be headed for the hills. The tourist brochures for Sapienza praise its beautiful routes. The next thing he hears is screeching brakes. The woman next to him raises a perfectly-styled eyebrow and flips to the economics section. In fact, the entirety of people out on the streets barely blink. It must be something that occurs often, with the narrow curves of the roads. Still, he wonders if there’s an opportunity there he could use. Getting up, he nods at the woman and casually makes his way over to the town wall. Just outside of the main arch, a van marked  _ Fiorista Isabella _ is stopped, clearly after nearly hitting the cyclist that he had noticed before. The man in question is sitting on the side of the road while one of the florists checks on him. The other, who seems to be the driver, is on the phone. 

“ _ Ho bisogno di consegnare questi fiori. Caruso mi ucciderà se sono in ritardo! _ ” Flowers for Caruso, huh? Perfect. 

“It’s been one year since Mrs Caruso died,” Lucy comments quietly. “These must be for her.”

Checking to make sure the other florist is preoccupied with the cyclist, Logan grabs a coin from his pocket once the driver has hung up, and bounces it against the van’s other side. “ _ Strano _ ,” the Italian comments, walking over to the source of the noise to check it out. A quick tap against the temple is enough to make his legs turn to jelly, and he goes down like a sack of bricks. Logan grabs the nearby garden rake -- thank you, lazy gardeners -- and positions it next to the man’s body. If they discover him, they’ll just presume the obvious and think he walked into it. He grabs the spare uniform from the inside of the van as well as the flowers in the passenger seat. The other florist is still as oblivious as ever as he walks away. After ducking into an alleyway to quickly change into the uniform, Logan’s all set. 

“That’s a waste of a perfectly good silk shirt,” Lucy comments via the earpiece. Logan chuckles. 

“You can take it out of my paycheck.” 

 

Approaching  _ Villa Caruso _ , Logan slouches a little and stares at the house number before walking up to the guards.

“ _ Consegna di fiori per Noah Caruso, _ ” he tells them in his best Italian. He can hear Lucy chuckle softly -- his Italian is, arguably, terrible, but if he’s lucky they’ll think he’s a Ukranian immigrant. The two men look him up and down before nodding and letting him through. He walks around the fountain until he reaches the steps to the front door. Inside, in the impressive entrance hall, a butler stands between the double staircase.

“ _ Fiori per sig. Caruso _ ,” he repeats, and the butler perks up.

“ _ Eccellente. Si prega di lasciare i fiori sulla tomba della signora Caruso in giardino, _ ” the man replies. Leave the flowers on Mrs Caruso’s grave. Sure, he can do that.

“ _ Nessun problema _ .” Following the butler outside, Logan takes note of the guards surrounding him. Every single corner of the place seems to be covered, but experience has taught him that even the best security systems have blind spots. This is no different. The butler leads him to a far corner of the yard, away from the golf course and the swimming pool, down a flight of winding steps until he can see a decorated grave. 

“ _ Laggiù _ ,” the butler instructs him as his portophone begins to beep. “ _ Devo andare. Puoi trovare l'uscita te stesso, sì? _ ” Logan nods, and the man leaves. Of course he can find the exit himself. Later. For now, he lays the flowers on the grave and walks over to the edge of the yard, which overlooks a cliff with the Tyrrhenian Sea below. There’s a couple of really sharp rocks at the bottom. How useful. 

“Caruso is coming,” Rufus warns him. “I can see him on the feed. He’ll be there in about a minute.” Logan quickly jumps behind a storage bin, where he can still see the grave, but where bushes should hopefully hide his silhouette. Noah Caruso appears within the promised sixty seconds, dressed in a blue polo shirt and white slacks, with a pink sweater slung around his shoulders. He wears sunglasses, but they don’t hide how jittery he is. If anything, Logan’ll be doing the man a favour by giving him some peace. 

“Can I please have a moment without you people breathing down my neck?” Caruso exclaims at the two guards accompanying him. “I just want to grieve in peace!” When one of them tries to protest, he adds: “Don’t argue, just go,  _ cazzo _ ! If Ether complains, they can send me a damn memo” The men raise their hands in defeat, and they quickly retreat up the steps.

“They’re taking a smoking break,” Rufus confirms. “No other visual activity nearby.” 

Caruso makes the sign of the cross and kneels down in front of the grave. Now’s his chance. Logan creeps up behind him. Thankfully the man is so busy rambling apologies to his late mother -- is that a confession he hears? -- that he doesn’t notice the assassin coming closer. Pulling his silenced handgun out of his pants, he fires two shots into the man’s skull. The roar of the sea hides the sound of the bullets, and Caruso drops face-down onto the grave, smashing into the flower arrangement. 

“You need to hide his body,” Lucy states, and Logan quickly scans the area around him. Where in God’s name is he going to leave him? He really should have thought this one through a little more, but the opportunity arose and he chose to use it. “How about the shredder?” Lucy suggests. “There should be enough room in there for him.” It’s worth a shot. Picking up Caruso’s body -- he’s heavier than he looks -- Logan walks over to the shredder standing nearby and drops him inside, closing the lid. 

“Whoever uses that thing next is up for a surprise,” Rufus mumbles. Lucy can’t help but laugh.

“Next up, Francesca de Santis,” she comments. 

 

In a small hotel room in the south of Johannesburg, Jiya announces: “That’s a confirmed kill on Noah.”

“Release the info,” Flynn tells her as he picks up his phone from the desk.

 

Halfway across the planet, in a different hemisphere, Rufus suddenly calls out: “Lucy?” The handler turns in her chair so she faces him. “You’re going to want to see this.” As she approaches his computer screens, he shows her a forum post.

“Logan?” she announces into her headset. “There are rumours of Noah Caruso having created a prototype of the virus, with De Santis’ DNA. If that’s true, you’re going to have to locate the vial and destroy it. We can’t risk the virus being recreated from the prototype.”

“Can I use it to get rid of De Santis?” Logan asks after a tick of silence. His voice is calm, grounding. It always is.

“Give me a moment to confirm,” Lucy replies. Typing up a message to Cahill, she asks him:  _ Second virus prototype rumoured. Linked to secondary target. Permission to apply? _

Within seconds, the reply arrives, and Lucy reads it out loud: “ _ Permission granted. _ ” 

“Any idea where it’s supposed to be located?” Logan inquires. Lucy watches him take out a guard that came to look for Caruso and take his uniform before she replies: “No idea. Rufus is searching the security footage for it right now.”

“There’s a safe on the top floor,” Rufus announces, his face mere inches from his screens. “There’s stairs leading to an attic on the second-floor terrace. Maybe try that?”

“It’s worth a shot,” Lucy confirms. “Did you catch that, Logan?” Logan quietly hums in acknowledgement. She’s forced to sit and watch the grainy, shaky video feed from his glasses while he makes his way over to the location Rufus has described, hoping and praying that no-one notices him. True to the hacker’s directions, a safe is sat in the far corner of the very stuffy attic, and Lucy holds her breath while Logan attempts to open the lock. It’s not his forte; usually, the ICA would send someone like Christopher if they know safe-cracking will be involved, but a quiet click sounds anyway and the door opens in one fluid movement. 

“I’ve got it,” Logan confirms, pocketing the vial. “Rufus, where is De Santis?” 

“She looks to be heading for her office.”

“Let’s see if this stuff works.” 

 

Outside of  _ Villa Caruso _ , Lorena Gallo-Flynn pockets her phone and approaches the guards standing near the gates. Lowering her sunglasses to the tip of her nose, she flashes the ring at the older of the two. He nearly chokes on his cigarette. 

“ _ La Camorra _ ,” he manages to stutter, before roughly nudging the other to let her through. By God, she hated her family growing up, but in situations like these… Garcia is going to kill her for going in by herself, but this Logan guy is taking way too long. They need to get this virus out of the way, somehow, and she can take care of it while he deals with De Santis. 

Instead of going through the main door, she heads left, into the garage. Getting past the few scattered staff members isn’t too complicated, and before she knows it, all that’s standing between her and the underground laboratory is two armed guards. After knocking out a scientist taking a break and shoving her into a locker -- she’s going to have one Hell of a headache when she wakes up -- Lorena approaches them.

“ _ Uomini _ ,” she greets them, and offers them a smile. She can hear her father preach about sinning in the back of her mind, but if God disagreed with her actions, he would have smote her a long time ago. The men step aside; she uses the keycard she got off of the scientist’s unconscious body, and she’s in. Now, to find a virus. 

 

“How do you even administer a DNA-specific virus?” Rufus wonders out loud as both he and Lucy watch Logan hide in De Santis’ bathroom. The woman appears, and Logan throws the vial against the wall behind her desk, breaking the vial and releasing a small cloud of white smoke. As Francesca goes to investigate the sudden sound, she breathes the gas and drops down dead immediately.

“Like that, I suppose,” Lucy replies. 

 

Getting to the virus is harder than Lorena had expected. It’s located on the opposite end of the lab entrance, and there are about two dozen guards and scientists standing between her and the quarantine area. It wouldn’t surprise her if a lot of them would notice that she’s not supposed to be here, as not many people have access to this ridiculous cave looking out over the Tyrrhenian Sea.

What also doesn’t help is that she just saw Logan sneak into the lab and take out a guard and a scientist on the upper walkway. As she makes her way over to the building, he is doing the same to her right. It’s like a lethal game of red light, green light, and she’s not about to lose. 

In the small entrance to the quarantine building, she pulls on a hazmat suit. He does the same. She unlocks a door. He does the same. She heads left while he heads right. 

Immediately, she realises her mistake. She’s standing between microscopes and computers, whilst he just walked into the tunnel leading to the virus. Damn him. 

 

“Feel like playing biochemist today?” Lucy asks as Logan walks up to the glass casing surrounding the virus and keeping it at a stable temperature. 

“Is that what biochemists do?” Rufus inquires quietly. Lucy shrugs. 

“This is the opposite of what biochemists do,” Logan replies, his voice muffled by the suit. The software protecting the virus seems beyond his paygrade, but the big red button with an exclamation mark on it looks like a safe bet. Waiting until the others in the room have turned around, he presses it and quickly moves to stare aimlessly at a screen. He needs to be able to confirm the destruction before he can leave. The vial containing the virus begins bubbling quietly, until suddenly the entire room turns red as every single alarm goes off. 

“ _ No! Il virus è denaturato! _ ” He can’t help but smile to himself. 

“All targets down,” Lucy confirms. “Well done, Logan. Now get out of there.”

 

The only way out that won’t make her look suspicious, Lorena realises, is by hugging the cliffside for a while and then jumping into the sea and resurfacing at the beach as a tourist. Sighing, she groans: “You’d better have allocated a budget for a hairdresser’s, Garcia,” and dives into the water. 

 

_ Johannesburg, One Week Later _

“Ether Security is in the dark about the incident, and few at the company knew about the virus, not even the board. Must have been someone at the lab,” a man in a tailored suit speaks into a phone as he walks to his car in an underground parking garage. Huffing while he takes a seat behind the wheel and closes the door, he replies: “I understand. I’ll get to the bottom of this.” He takes a deep breath.

“Bosses unhappy?” He freezes. The question comes from the backseat. “I followed you from Italy,” the stranger adds. “I guess when you’re invisible, you stop looking over your shoulder, hm?”

“You did this?” the man asks, looking at him in his rearview mirror. The stranger is tall and speaks with a Slavic accent. 

“IAGO exposed you,” the stranger replies, “so you can thank Connor Mason for that. The ICA did the heavy lifting. All I did was pull some strings. 

“Are you out of your mind?” the man asks, slowly moving his left hand to the inside pocket of his jacket. “How do you expect--” but he’s interrupted by the stranger lifting a handgun to the back of his head. The metal presses against his skin as the stranger replies: “I play dirty. That’s how you defeat a stronger opponent. You strike from behind. Now, give me the key.”

“You have a family?” the man inquires, staring the stranger straight in the eye through the mirror. “Trust me, if you have a weakness, Rittenhouse will find it.” The stranger’s face twitches before he answers.

“I’ll take my chances. The key.”

“Fine.” The man breaks the necklace he’s wearing. “It won’t do you much good.” He hands it to the stranger. 

“Funny,” the stranger comments. “Cobb said the same thing.” He cocks the gun. “Thank you, messenger.” 

“Don’t,” the man says. “I just killed you.” 

“Then we’re even.”

Garcia Flynn fires a bullet into the man’s head.


	4. A Gilded Cage - Marrakesh, Morocco

Taking a deep breath, Lucy walks onto the main deck of the ferry. The high-speed boat has just left Algeciras, Spain, and will arrive in Ceuta in approximately 35 minutes. The crisp salty air is a nice change from her usually stuffy offices around the globe.

"Good afternoon, Logan," she comments quietly as she comes to stand next to her agent. His black suit contrasts strongly with the soft earthy tones of her dress. She pulls her scarf over the top of her head in an attempt to save her curls from the harsh gusts of wind, letting the lengths of fabric gather loosely on her chest and shoulders.

"Lucy." If he's surprised to see her in person, he hides it well.

"We're heading to Marrakech, where civil riots are looming. The targets are private banker Anthony Bruhl and General Reza Zaydan, two of the conspirators in a sinister plot to overthrow Morocco's fragile government." This is the easy part of every mission; repeating the briefing she has been rehearsing for hours. Logan glances to the side. Using a window as a mirror, Lucy follows his gaze. Two men are watching them. Or, to be more specific, they're ogling her. Logan taps a pattern on the railing, and Lucy tracks it mentally. Short, short, long, pause, long, long, long, pause, long, short, long. She nods ever so slightly.  _ Yes, I'm okay _ . She's fully aware that if she had replied the opposite, Logan would have taken them down. To be fair, she's still feeling uncomfortable, but they need to keep a low profile. It took an hour of begging to convince Cahill to let her accompany Logan in person. She'd like to do it again.

 

At the other end of the deck, a woman pulls at her hijab.

"Would you stop fussing?" Flynn asks her. "One hour, then you can take it off."

" _ Alqawl 'ashal min alfiel _ ," Lorena mumbles back.

"I'm going to assume those were curse words." Flynn's voice is stern, but his eyes twinkle with amusement. Reaching into his backpack, he grabs a travel guide about Marrakech and opens it on a bookmarked page, revealing a general map of the city. He points at an area of the medina quarter, right next to the Jemaa el-Fnaa. “That’s where I’m going; the University of Al-Qarawiyyin.”

“And I’m headed towards the embassy.  _ Fun _ .” 

 

As they cross into Morocco and get into a car, Logan waits in silence for Lucy to continue the briefing. It takes her a few minutes to get her bearings while he turns onto the N16 towards Tangier. They’re going to see all major cities - Tangier, Rabat, Casablanca - except for Fes on their 400-mile drive to Marrakech. Lucy clears her throat.

“Bruhl, a former bank CEO who stole billions of dollars worth of savings from the Moroccan people, was facing trial for investment fraud. But early this morning, a band of heavily armed mercenaries freed Bruhl from his prison transport, resulting in the deaths of several police officers. Bruhl now takes refuge at his native German consulate, in front of which crowds of angry protesters have gathered, demanding his handover to Moroccan authorities.”

“And we’re assuming Zaydan has something to do with that?” Logan asks. Lucy gazes out the window.

“We believe General Zaydan orchestrated Bruhl’s escape, in order to infuriate the public and spark nationwide riots, allowing Zaydan to impose martial law. Operating out of a field HQ at a nearby abandoned school, he will no doubt use the riots to depict the Rabat government as weak and inept and persuade the General Staff to support a fully-fledged military coup in the name of ‘national security’.” 

“Sounds like a political powder keg.” Logan eyes the woman in the passenger seat. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Lucy replies a little too quickly and a little too tensely. 

“When’s the last time you were in the field?” 

“Five years ago. Now, our client, building contractor Hamilton-Lowe, who stands to lose a fortune in government contracts, has hired us to prevent the coup d’état. To do so, you need to paralyse Zaydan’s rebel forces and prevent the riots from escalating further, hence the double contract.” Logan glances at Lucy while she speaks. She goes back to staring out of the window.

“Sounds like fun,” he comments.

“Rufus hasn’t been able to hack into the local surveillance. He’s going to keep trying, but we can’t seem to find a secure line. You may have to go in blind.” She can’t watch him.

“Understood.”

 

When Logan returns to their hotel room that night, he’s covered in sand and his face is bleeding.

"It's done."

“Jesus!” Lucy exclaims, running over to him the moment he enters. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Logan replies, moving to the bathroom. He raises his hands to his dress shirt, attempting to shrug it off, but he winces.

“Let me.” She carefully strips him of his shirt. His Kevlar undershirt is skin-tight. "Can you lift your arms?" Lucy asks, running her hand along his back.

"I doubt it." Nodding, Lucy reaches into her unzipped flight bag, retrieving a fountain pen. Pulling it apart, she reveals a hidden blade. 

"Hold still." With careful precision, she presses the blunt side of the knife against his skin and begins to cut through the material. Her brow is furrowed at the focus necessary to slice the slash-proof fabric. Logan remains completely motionless until the constricting garment finally falls onto the carpeted floor. Then, he exhales.

"I'm getting blood and mud on your dress." Lucy glances down. Indeed, there are smears where Logan's clothes fell past her body, burgundy and soft browns mixing with the bright red embroidery of her kaftan.

"I suppose I should get it to laundry, then," she replies, raising her gaze to look Logan in the eye.

"I suppose so." She grasps the edge of the scarf that's loosely draped around her face and takes it off. Logan watches her silently, never breaking eye contact as she moves her hands to her upper back, unzipping the garment. The fabric floats to the floor. Logan swallows.

"I think we could both use a shower," Lucy whispers. 

 

_ New York, Two Days Later _

“Compromised? But I don’t understand! There is no sign of forced entry, no alarms; nothing,” a man in a grey suit comments as he walks down a long, marble-floored hallway. The woman to his side sighs.

“One of my people has gone missing in Johannesburg. A key-bearer.”

“I wish I’d been informed. Still, the system demands two keys. And the rest are all accounted for.”

“Except for your late predecessor’s,” the woman replies. They come to stand in front of a large vault door. 

“Cobb?” the man asks. “But, his plane went down over the Pacific. It was an accident.” His voice quivers.

“Such was the conclusion at the time, yes.” 

The man produces a key from his pocket, while the woman pulls it off of her necklace. They both insert them into the locks, turning them at the exact same time. The door begins to creak, metal mechanisms moving behind thick steel. 

“People die, Mister Cahill. It happens all the time, even to us. If it seems like a conspiracy, it probably isn’t. And yet…” The woman takes a breath. “The failed coup in Morocco. The Ether virus. Someone knows about us. There was a pattern and I failed to see it.” She turns to face Cahill. “Rittenhouse is under attack.” Cahill nervously clears his throat.

“How much was there?” 

“Money?” the woman scoffs. “Not money, Mister Cahill. Information. Of all of our assets and operatives.” She draws out the vowels. “Like you. Dig a trench, Director. And make it a deep one. Because none of you are safe anymore.” 

Emma Whitmore turns and walks away, leaving Cahill standing in front of the empty vault. 

 

_ Brussels, Belgium, One Month Later _

“ _ The body of billionaire media mogul Thomas Baumgardner was discovered earlier this evening, slain by multiple gunshot wounds. Baumgardner was scandalously kidnapped this morning at the funeral of his only son, acclaimed rock musician Dave Baumgardner. A notorious recluse, Thomas Baumgardner had not left his private island in years and authorities are now looking into a connection between the two deaths. _ ” The news anchor clears his throat and moves on. 

Walking past the television showing the current news, on her way towards Gates 81-83, Lucy Preston takes a seat in the waiting area. Dave Baumgardner. Logan's most recent target. This is bad. She plays with the pouch around her neck which contains her travel documents to stave off her nerves. Her boarding pass and passport bear a different name -- that of Juliet Shakesman. The first alias she had ever come up with, on a whim, when questioned by police during her very first hit. It’s stuck. She gazes out of the humongous windows of Brussels Airport, watching the planes prepare for their next flight. She’s headed for Reykjavik, and then to Kangerlussuaq. Back to the ICA training facility. She hasn’t missed the cold air of Greenland, but if Cahill commands her to return, then she must.

“This was no coincidence.” The familiar voice of Logan sounds behind her. She can see him in the reflection in the windows. He’s dressed impeccably as always, with not a wrinkle in sight. 

“Not by a long shot,” she replies quietly, barely moving her mouth. “Thomas Baumgardner had millions stashed in offshore accounts, all stripped clean within hours of the kidnapping. Someone wanted the son dead to lure out the father.” Lucy grasps her purse a little tighter. “Someone smart enough to stay in the shadows, while we did the wet work, and the clueless middlemen picked up the check.”

“A shadow client?” Logan suggests. Lucy offers the slightest nod, pretending to move her head along with the music of an ad on the screens across from her. “Someone got rich. The contract was just. How is this our problem?” 

“I know you don’t care about politics, Logan,” Lucy comments, fighting her own need to look at him. She wants to see his eyes, wants to know it will be okay. “But ICA is neutral,” she continues, “and it always has been. We can’t allow ourselves to be manipulated. Besides…” she takes a deep breath. 

“It’s happened before,” he deduces.

“Italy. Morocco. Paris. All of our recent assignments. All our clients got their intel the same way. Anonymous tips from a hidden source. Each contract was perfectly legit, yet part of a grander design. 

“I don’t see the pattern,” Logan admits. He takes a sip of his coffee.

“Somebody does. The Board has asked us to chase down this shadow client, and Rufus is closing in on them as we speak.” 

“I know that tone,” Logan comments, amusement audible in his voice. Lucy smiles.

“Someone is playing a game, Logan. The question is,” she suggests, finally daring to glance at the side of his face, “against whom?” Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she gets up and walks away, towards the restrooms. That should give him enough time to get to his own flight -- though she has no idea where he’ll be going. 

As she leaves the waiting area, Logan watches her.

As does Garcia Flynn.


	5. Freedom Fighters - Colorado, USA

"Logan, good morning."

"Lucy." Logan's jaw tenses slightly at the greeting. Lucy started with his name, which means there's someone else listening in. Knowing the ICA, it's probably Cahill.

"We have a lead on the shadow client. Rufus has traced the anonymous data received by our clients to one Jiya Marri, brilliant young hacktivist and suspect in over a dozen cases of cyber vandalism. Using onion routing with state-of-the-art encryption, Jiya went through a lot of trouble to stay untraceable. She is good, but Rufus is better." Lucy's voice is formal and emotionless. Logan doesn't like it. "Her digital trail has led us to a remote farm in Colorado, where satellite footage has revealed what appears to be the training camp for a private militia. 

"Led by an already registered target, Stiv Nikolaev, Russian environmental terrorist and explosives expert, wanted for a series of public bombings. Nikolaev was spotted near the scene of Thomas Baumgardner’s kidnapping at Dave Baumgardner’s funeral, which makes him our prime suspect for the shadow client. Spurred by Benjamin Cahill, the ICA Board of Directors has asked us to infiltrate the farm and eliminate Stiv Nikolaev along with three other prominent militia members: Doctor Ezra Berg, retired Mossad interrogator; Penelope Graves, former Interpol anti-terror analyst; and finally, Maya Parvati, former assassin and gunrunner for the Tamil Tigers." A faint click can be heard, and Lucy exhales deeply.

"We're alone," Logan deduces. Lucy chuckles.

"I'll be honest with you, Logan. I consider Director Cahill's reasoning hasty and ill-advised. Now, we cannot go against the wishes of the Board. But we can conduct our own investigation. Whether a direct threat to the ICA or not, we need to know the shadow client's true agenda. I will leave you to prepare." She closes the connection. 

Something's off.

 

"Would you like to explain why you're bullying my team, Director?" Lucy asks, getting into Cahill's face in the middle of her squad's tiny allocated office at the Greenland base. "Your people are two inches away from being inside of Rufus' screen and Agent Christopher says the only place she's finding peace is the training gym."

"If you've got nothing to hide, Miss Preston," Cahill replies with the most annoying little smirk she's seen in a while, "there's nothing going on, now is there?" She wants to punch it off of his face.

"Just let my people do their jobs, Director. We've got the highest success rate of the entire ICA." Huffing, Lucy turns and walks over to Rufus, giving Cahill's assistant a death glare. The young man in ICA training gear swallows and steps aside.

"Hey," Rufus greets her. 

"Hey. You okay?" Lucy takes a seat on the empty chair next to him. Rufus sighs, typing away as he replies: "It's all good. Just another day at the office, right?"

The screen reads:  _ I know Jiya _ .

"Always been like this, huh?" Lucy quips, fidgeting with her hand on his knee. Fist, index finger over thumb, then an open fist, pointing twice, pause, three fingers folded over her thumb, open fist.  _ T-E-L-L M-E. _ Rufus glances down and smiles. Thank the Heavens for multilingual employees. The screen changes, and it now reads:  _ MIT. She's good people. Trustworthy.  _ Cahill's grunt returns. The screen immediately switches back to satellite images of the militia camp. 

"What's next?" Rufus asks, looking up at Lucy as she stands back up.

"We hope for the best, and if necessary, we get the important people out of there," she replies, patting his shoulder. Rufus trusts her, and Lucy trusts Rufus. Jiya gets out, she decides. 

Somehow. 

 

Getting Logan to Colorado isn't the problem. Lucy buys him a plane ticket to Denver, and he arrives without any disturbances. Getting him to the training camp, however, is a bigger issue. She can't just have him drive over; the militia would spot him from miles away. So, Lucy decides, he'll have to traverse the last five miles by foot.

"Look at it as cardio training," she comments as Logan starts his trek up to the farm.

"Right," Logan replies, and it almost sounds like he's attempting to make a joke. When Logan is three miles from his destination, Lucy nods at Rufus. He sends an encrypted message to Jiya's IP address.

 

On the other side of the world, the screens of all of Jiya's devices begin flashing, and words appear:  _ Leia - The Borg is coming. Get out now. _

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Iris wonders out loud as she gazes over Jiya's shoulder. 

"Flynn!" Jiya yells. The man in question comes running up the stairs immediately, flanked by Lorena.

"What's wrong?"

"We need to leave." Flynn glances at Lorena, who nods in agreement. The four immediately make their way over to the sleeping quarters and grab their sparse belongings. 

 

"We're not leaving, boss. Whatever it is, we can take it." Stiv pats Flynn's shoulder and offers him a swig of his beer. "You should get your girls to safety, but Ezra and I are staying, as are Maya and Penelope." He sighs before adding: "Karl and Judith are heading north as we speak; he's going to head for Asia while she goes to Oceania." Flynn has been working with Stiv long enough to know not to inquire any further. The man gives you the details you need to know, and nothing more.

"This might cost you your life, Stiv," Flynn comments solemnly. 

"What's one life in the fight of a lifetime?"

" _ Neka te Bog čuva _ ."

"And you." Stiv offers a stiff smile. " _ Vidimo se u sljedećem životu. _ " Neither of them is willing to say it, but they both know it: this is goodbye. 

 

Inside the farmhouse, Lorena is handing Iris and Jiya passports and flight tickets.

"Jiya, you're heading towards Albuquerque, and then to Europe. I was thinking of London, but with the whole Brexit thing going on…" Lorena sighs. "So...I'm sending you to my family."

"I thought you didn't speak to your family?" Iris asks as she inspects her destination. "Colombia. Nice."

"Most of them, I don't, yes. But my aunt Bianca who lives in Trieste, she'll let you stay without trying to make you pledge loyalty to the family. Iris,  _ vita mia _ , you're going to Santa Fortuna. You're staying with Jess." 

"Great, I can work on my tan." Iris winks, kissing her mother's cheek. "It's going to be okay, mom. Once all of this blows over we'll all reunite safely in Croatia and everything will be fine." Lorena draws her bottom lip between her teeth before replying: " _ Spero abbia ragione _ ."

"We need to go," Jiya states, grabbing her bags from the table. "Can we take a car?" 

 

"I love you, you know." 

"Stop acting like we're about to die, Garcia."

"Hm. It's still true." Lorena smiles.

"I love you too."

 

Stiv dies. Flynn watches his GPS tracker stop moving on his screen while the man’s radio sends out a horizontal alert. Flynn punches a wall. 

“Was Jiya able to take down the photos downstairs?” Lorena asks, loosely wrapping her arms around his torso from behind him, resting her cheek against his upper back.

“No.”

“So this is it, then.” She chuckles quietly. “Rittenhouse is going to be  _ pissed _ .”

"Do you still need to grab that flash drive?" he asks her without acknowledging her comment. Lorena nods against his sweater. "Then let's go get it, while Wy-- Logan's distracted. I'll cover you."

 

On the farm with all targets taken care of silently, Logan sneaks into the farmhouse basement. Using Stiv Nikolaev’s smart watch, he bypasses the security lock to the storm shelter and enters, closing the reinforced door behind him. The walls are absolutely filled with photos and lines drawn between them, with post-its beneath the ones with the most connections.

"The plot thickens," Lucy comments via his earpiece.

"Someone left in a hurry."

"Stiv Nikolaev was not the shadow client. That much is clear. Whoever commands the militia, they got out just in time. Look around, Logan. We're getting closer." Logan nods and moves to the left of the small room. There’s a world map spanning the entire length of the wall, with bright red dots on cities all over the planet.

"Someone's done their homework," he states, tracing the locations with his right hand.

"Look how far it dates back. Hayamoto. Beldingford. D'Alvade. The shadow client has been tracking you for decades." Lucy’s voice has been reduced to an astonished whisper.

"Now how is that possible?" he wonders.

"It isn't. Every one of those missions were branded as unsolved or accidents. He must have been looking for a pattern. A certain MO. Which would mean…"

"He knows me."

"Well. At least this shortens the list. Check the photos to your right?" Doing as Lucy instructs, Logan walks over to the wall behind the only desk in the room. Observing the view, he murmurs: "Some kind of network. Power players...from all sectors."

"Familiar faces, too,” Lucy confirms. “Thomas and Dave Baumgartner. Anthony Bruhl. Noah Caruso. Ether. And that's missing banker Eugene Cobb. Well, well." Logan attempts to read the post-its.

"There's a name at the top. Rittenhouse."

"What?” Logan’s fairly certain he just heard Lucy drop something. “No. No, it can't be."

"'The Hidden Hand'. Thought they were a myth."

"A hypothesis, nothing more.” Lucy audibly swallows. “The idea that a small cabal of kingmakers, controlling enough corporate and political leaders could effectively run the world in secret."

"Maybe not so hypothetical, then."

"Keep looking, Logan. We need full disclosure." The desk is the only place left. Any computers that might have stood there originally are gone, but there’s a small picture on the metal surface. Holding it up to his glasses so Lucy can see, Logan states: "Found something." 

The picture shows the face of ICA Director Benjamin Cahill.

"Cahill? But that would mean… Rittenhouse has infiltrated ICA. And Benjamin Cahill is their operative. Bastard! It all fits! He was the one who persuaded the rest of the ICA Board to green light this operation… This changes everything. Get out, Logan. We got what we came for."

"What about the shadow client?"

"He is no longer our primary concern. ICA has been compromised. I always wondered if Rittenhouse was real, but I never actually… I will need to confer with the Board, but mark my words, Logan. This will have consequences."

 

Flynn finds himself on the water tower overlooking the training camp. Everyone has evacuated. It’s as silent as it was before he got there; before he started training his men. This time though, he’s watching Lorena through the scope of a suppressed sniper rifle. He can hear her breathing in his left ear. In his right, a phone is answered. Better rip off the band-aid immediately. 

"Stiv is gone." The other line gasps.

" _ It was me, wasn't it? They tracked me. I don't believe it. I took every precaution _ !"

"Stiv knew the risks. They all do. We all do. You did well, Jiya; I am proud of you. Now listen. The ICA knows about you. They kept you alive because they needed you and now they don't. We won't talk again. Not until the storm is over." Flynn follows Lorena as she makes her way through the orchard. The surveillance system is still online, so she's staying low to the ground while she travels across the grounds.

" _ I don't like it. This man, you know what he's capable of. You need to end this now _ !" Logan walks out of the farmhouse. Flynn could do it, right now. He could end it. And yet.

"I ran away as a boy. My friend and I. Away from that...place. We came upon a small farming community. The people were dirt-poor, but this woman, she took us in. We were awakened the next morning by the shots. A dozen people lay face-down in the snow. Our warden...didn't like to leave witnesses. They shot the woman and her family last and made sure that we watched the whole thing. 'This is your gift,' the warden told us, 'your gift and your curse: touching lives only by ending them.'"

" _ You know him _ ," Jiya realises. 

"Better than anyone else." The call ends. Flynn returns the viewfinder of his scope back to the silhouette of Lorena, who's close to the farmhouse now. He hears a soft, sharp whizzing sound through his earpiece, then a dull impact and a loud gasp. A figure in black to Lorena's left lowers their pistol as she collapses on the steps leading to the front door.

"NO!"

 

When Flynn reaches the house, the figure is gone, and Lorena is dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Croatian:  
> Neka te Bog čuva = May God protect you  
> Vidimo se u sljedećem životu = I'll see you in the next life
> 
> Italian:  
> Vita mia = My life  
> Spero abbia ragione = I hope you're right


	6. Situs Inversus - Hokkaido, Japan

"Good morning, Logan."

"Good morning, Lucy." Logan grabs his suitcase off of the moving belt and walks over to customs. They let him through without a hitch, and he continues into the Arrivals hall of New Chitose Airport. As he makes his way over to the train station connected to the airport, Lucy catches up to him.

"You look beautiful," he tells her. She flew coach all the way from Greenland today, while he had the luxury of business class, their routes converging in Helsinki. Lucy blushes, shaking her head.

"I see myself as many things, but not that." Before he can reply, she tells him: "The board has sanctioned Benjamin Cahill for termination." 

"That seems excessive." The ICA has, as far as he knows, never before decided to have one of their own eliminated. 

"He betrayed us." Lucy stares straight ahead. "After Colorado, we did some digging in Cahill's private affairs, and discovered that he has been fast-tracked for critical heart surgery at the hyper-exclusive Gama private hospital in Hokkaido, Japan. Such a display of power has Rittenhouse written all over it." Using his card to pay for both of their tickets to Sapporo station, which sets him back a little over two thousand yen, he asks: "Why here?"

"Cahill, who suffers from a rare condition known as situs inversus, where his internal organs are reversed, desperately needs a right-sided heart transplant and has clearly betrayed the ICA to get it. He was admitted last night and is currently being prepped for a three-day surgery." Logan has a feeling the donor heart wasn't obtained through any of the usual and legal channels.

"We have booked you into Gama under the usual guise of Tobias Rieper," Lucy continues, "corporate shark, here for a standard medical checkup."

"And you?"

"Will be closeby. As Rieper, though, you will need to play it by ear, and procure whatever tools you need to complete the mission. We cannot risk your cover getting blown by a discovered firearm. You also need to eliminate Yuki Yamazaki; a Tokyo lawyer who works for Rittenhouse. Cahill has already given Yamazaki access to our client records, and has agreed to provide a full list of active ICA operatives, post his operation. This transaction cannot be allowed to happen." Logan nods. As he wants to board the train, Lucy suddenly grabs his forearm, looking him in the eye for the very first time since they got off the plane. 

"Cahill must pay for his treachery and his insidious employers must be taught a lesson. ICA's sovereignty is at stake. Powerful as Rittenhouse may be, we need to draw a line in the sand." Then, just as sudden as she had grabbed him, she lets him go. With a whispered: "I will leave you to prepare," she walks away, boarding the train a few carriages away from him. He is so stunned he nearly forgets to get on the train.

 

The Gama Centre is located on top of a snow-covered mountain in Hokkaido. It is, by anyone's standards, luxurious. The sheets are Egyptian cotton; the water is imported from the Alps, and there are chefs available 24/7 to cater to everyone's needs. At first glance you wouldn't even assume it was a hospital, but the people in white coats reveal otherwise. 

"Gama is partially run by an artificial intelligence called KAI -- Kronstadt Artificial Intelligence," a nurse tells Logan as she shows him to his room. "KAI is in charge of everything from calling patients over the PA to performing advanced surgery procedures. Everything at GAMA is top of the line and even the doors are out of the ordinary. No keys are needed as KAI simply detects the presence of a small RFID chip incorporated into patients and staff' clothing and grants the appropriate access." 

"Sounds complicated," he replies with a chuckle. He's Tobias Rieper. He knows money, not technology or medicine. At least, that's what he's supposed to make the staff think.

"Maybe, but it's also extremely secure!" the nurse announces proudly. "The chip in your robe will allow you access to your room."

"I can't wear my suit?" Logan asks. 

"I could get someone to sew a chip into your clothing, if you'd like," the nurse suggests. "At an extra charge, of course." Logan shakes his head.

"It's alright," he reassures her. "Thank you." Staring at the yukata, he sighs. He really doesn't have the legs to pull this off.

 

The next morning, after having spent the largest part of the previous day undergoing all sorts of undoubtedly unnecessary medical procedures, Logan finds himself having breakfast in Gama's Michelin-star restaurant. 

"When you said closeby, I hadn't figured you meant  _ this _ close," he murmurs quietly to the woman dressed in a pristine white yukata next to him. Lucy smiles anxiously. 

"It's nice to meet you," she replies. "Juliet Shakesman; I'm here for the Onsen Spa." Ah, so that's the game they're playing today. Fine.

"Tobias Rieper," he introduces himself then. "I needed a break from work. You know how it is." Lowering his voice, he adds: "You're just in time for today's spectacle." He nods his head towards the bar, where Yuki Yamazaki has just arrived with her two bodyguards. 

"Ah! Fugu! Finally!" the attorney exclaims, picking up a piece of pufferfish from the dish in front of her. "I knew the chef would come around eventually!"

"You  _ didn't _ ," Lucy whispers, watching as Yuki swallows the sashimi. Logan shrugs.

"The chef just needed a little encouragement, that's all. So I cut it up for him. She just ate the liver." The liver being the most toxic part of a pufferfish, containing most of its tetrodotoxin. A lethal poison without an antidote. 

"Would you like to explore Gama together, Mister Rieper?" Lucy asks him, toying with the spoon in her cup of coffee. Three sugars and a splash of soy milk. He's prepared it for her many times before. 

"I think I would, yes."

 

Logan lets Lucy drag him into the hot springs at first. After all, he doesn't want the security to suspect him of anything. The fact that he gets to spend some time with her in the Onsen doesn't hurt. Afterwards, they dry off, and he gets to lead Lucy somewhere: the far corner of the courtyard.

"What are we doing here?" she asks him, gazing out over the valley in front of them. 

"Climbing down the drainpipe." Lucy freezes.

"You're kidding."

"You don't have to come." She shakes her head. That's the Lucy he knows. She may have been a handler for the past ten years, but looks can be deceiving. He is aware she started off as an assassin for one of the Italian clans in Los Angeles as a teenager, before the ICA scouted her and she revealed her talent for guiding agents during her training; a true wunderkind of their trade.

"No, I want to. Show me." 

 

They sneak into the medical staff sleeping quarters through an open window one floor down. Logan's surprised at Lucy's agility climbing down, though she somehow manages to crash past the windowsill, landing on the floor in a haphazard somersault. 

"You okay?" he asks quietly. Lucy smoothes out the wrinkles in her yukata and looks up at him.

"Why wouldn't I be?" He chuckles. "How do you want to do this?" 

"We head down, through the morgue, then into the operating theatre. After that, we'll improvise."

" _ Improvise _ ?" Lucy doesn't look too happy. "I don't like the sound of that." 

As Logan is about to reply, he freezes. Footsteps. Someone's approaching. Glancing at the name tags on the bunks, Logan quickly drags her into the one marked  _ Pavel Frydel _ \-- if he recalls correctly, Dr. Frydel is one of the surgeons currently tending to Cahill. He pulls the curtain closed and raises his index finger to his lips. Lucy's hands are holding his upper arms in a death grip. Of course, her claustrophobia. This was a terrible idea. Manoeuvring them both as quietly as he can, Logan guides her to lie in his arms, her cheek pressed against his chest. He rubs small, slow circles on her upper back.

After what seems like ages, the unknown intruder finally leaves. Lucy jumps out of the bunk as quickly as humanly possible, crashing into a forgotten suitcase on her way out. Nurses' scrubs spills out of one of the compartments. Holding them up to her chest, Lucy grins.

"They're just my size." She changes into them, and Logan averts his eyes. As she finishes straightening out the scrub top, Lucy grabs her yukata and throws it out of the window, down the cliff. When Logan raises an eyebrow, she clarifies: "RFID chip. Now, I'll go find you something to wear. I'll be right back." Kissing his cheek, she walks up to the door. The chip in the scrubs opens the lock automatically and it slides open. Then, she's out of his sight, and he's stuck in the sleeping bay.

Nearly fifteen minutes later according to his wristwatch, Lucy returns, producing a surgeon's uniform from a plastic bag. 

"Do I want to know how you managed to get this?" Logan asks, exchanging his robe for the dark blue scrubs. As she adjusts his scrub cap, Lucy replies: "Knocked out a coroner on his way back from the bathroom, tore the chip from his collar, stuffed him in a hall closet, used the chip to access the uniform cabinet. Oh, and I took out the security camera system."

"How did you do that?" Logan asks, motioning for her to follow him into the corridor and down the stairs leading to the morgue.

"Got a glass of water, flirted with the guard in the security room, spilled said glass of water onto the system." If Logan was capable of emotions, he'd say he loved the woman right now. But he's not. Instead, he holds the door open for her.

"Ladies and geniuses first." 

 

As they walk by a room, Lucy freezes.

"What's wrong?" Logan asks. She points at the glass door.

"That's it. That's the right-sided donor heart." She walks up to the lock, but it flashes red. Neither the nurse's uniform nor the chip from the coroner allow her access.

"Let me try," Logan suggests. He approaches the door, and it clicks quietly before sliding open. "Shall I do it, or do you want to do it?" This is much easier and safer than his original plan. Lucy takes a deep breath and makes her way over to the refrigerated cell. Grabbing the heart from its secure position, she takes it out into the hallway and throws it out of a window. 

"We've killed him without laying a hand on him," she whispers quietly when he comes to stand next to her. "I'm not sure how to feel." 

Truth be told, neither does he.

 

_ Somewhere Between Amsterdam and Berlin, One Month Later _

Lucy has always liked German international trains. They're comfortable, fast, and usually not too crowded. This time she's even got an entire first class carriage to herself on her way to Switzerland. Flipping to the next page of her book, she takes a moment to look out at the scenery. The moon's visible between feathery clouds, and endless Dutch pastures are interrupted by the occasional small town.  

"Miss Preston." Looking up, she seems to have failed to notice that a redheaded woman wearing a navy tailored suit has approached her, effectively trapping her in her seat.

"That's not what my ticket says." 

"We received your message. Loud and clear, I might add. Honestly, you could have just sacked the poor guy."

"I didn't catch your name."

"No. You didn't." The woman sits down across from Lucy, leaning forward. "There'll be no retaliation. Not for Cahill, nor any other recent fiascos. Someone's been meddling in our affairs, killing our operatives and making the ICA look like fools. I think you got close to that someone. Closer than we've ever been. That's why we're hiring you to take him down." Lucy closes her book, looking the woman in the eyes.

"I don't think so."

"Don't rattle our cages, Miss Preston. You really have no idea." Oh, she has an extremely clear image of who she's dealing with right now. The question is whether the woman can handle  _ her _ .

"You spy on us. Bribe our people. And you have the gall to demand our help? No. You can't be trusted." 

"Even so. We've been around for a long, long time. I think we could help each other." The redhead reaches into her jacket and produces a photo. She places it face-down on the table between them. Lucy resists the urge to inspect it; she doesn't want to give the woman the upper hand. "Some ten years ago," the woman continues, "your agency took in a young man with no past and...extraordinary skills. In his own  _ special _ way he cares about you and vice versa. And ever since that time, you've never stopped wondering where he came from. And who made him what he is."

"There was a doctor," Lucy declares. "Some depraved experiment. But he's gone now." Logan took him down three years ago. It's over.

"Well, if you believe the questions died with him, we have nothing further to discuss. If not? As I said, I think we could help each other." Damn it, Lucy walked straight into that one. "Partners, then?" Lucy doesn't reply. Rolling her eyes, the redhead gets up. "Cheer up Miss Preston. We -- we are the lesser evil. This terrorist? He wants nothing but chaos."

"He's only a terrorist if you win," Lucy comments, staring up at the woman.

"Miss Preston. Rittenhouse won a long time ago. This? This is maintenance." With that, the woman walks off. Lucy could follow her, but she knows there's no point trying to track down a woman who's undoubtedly a ghost. Instead, she picks up the photo from the table and examines it.

There's no doubt possible. 

The image shows a young boy, standing arm in arm with a young Logan. Logan, of whom they know nothing of his childhood. Logan, who didn't exist until 10 years ago. 

There's a phone number underneath the polaroid. Grabbing one of her burner phones, Lucy takes a deep breath, and dials. 

"This is Preston speaking. Fine. We'll work with you." 

Three carriages down, Emma Whitmore puts down her phone, and grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of the first arc! The second arc should hopefully follow soon.  
> I've decided to split the two arcs into two different fics, hence the rating and chapter amount change. It made more sense to me to do it like this.  
>  I'd love to hear your thoughts!

**Author's Note:**

> I've been planning this one for literal months. I can't make any promises as for update frequency, but I hope you'll forgive me! I'd love to hear your thoughts!


End file.
